Shattered Crystal
by Flatkatsi
Summary: The crystal being caused Jack a little more trauma than anyone realized. Episode tag for 'Cold Lazarus'
1. Part One

Shattered Crystal

Jack O'Neill stepped out of the wormhole and turned to watch as it shut down, the iris sliding into place. He gave a brief shrug of his shoulders and spun on his heels, meeting the eyes of his reception committee with a twist of his lips.

"How did it go, Colonel?" The Texan drawl of General Hammond belied the underlying command for information implicit in the question.

"Fine, sir. The thing morphed back into a crystal as soon as we hit the ground on the other side It's sitting a metre to the left of the gate, looking as innocent as..." he stopped and considered, "Well...as blue glass can." His normal exuberance was missing, and his team exchanged concerned looks. After a pause where it became obvious that the Colonel wasn't going to say anything else, the General spoke again.

"Okay, son. Get yourself to the infirmary and we'll hold the debriefing in an hour." With a nod of dismissal Hammond returned to the control room, not waiting to watch his premier team leave the vast and almost empty space.

xoxoxoxoxoxo

"I'll compare these blood samples with those we took when you first returned from the planet, Colonel." Doctor Fraiser handed the ampoules to the waiting nurse and removed her gloves, throwing them into the nearby bin. "Now, I understand you were hit by some discharge from the crystal being in the hospital." She stared at him until he reluctantly nodded. "I'll need to run another full set of tests and make sure there are no adverse effects." She ignored the disgruntled mutter from the man in front of her. "How are you feeling? Any problems I should be aware of?"

"No, Doc, nothing worth mentioning." The Colonel moved restlessly on the bed, his foot tapping against the metal of its frame.

Janet gave him a quizzical look, her hand already out and grabbing for his wrist. "Everything is worth mentioning, sir, at least to me."

"It's just a headache." Jack moved his arm, pulling his wrist from her grasp. "And before you ask, it's a two on the pain scale. Like I said, not worth mentioning." He grimaced as her hand snaked forward and took his wrist once more, her fingers pressing against the pulse point.

She released it with a frown, pulling her penlight from her pocket and shining it in his eyes before he could protest.

"Ouch! God damn it, Doc. Give a guy some warning, why don't ya!" Jack shut his eyes, squeezing them tight, his right hand up, rubbing his forehead. "I hope you're happy. That two has just turned into a four."

"Hold still, sir." Machines were attached and spitting out readings before he even knew what was happening. "Your blood pressure is very high."

"It's just a headache, Doc. Give me some pills if you must, but it isn't anything to worry about. I just bumped my head when I hit the floor."

Janet probed the back of the Colonels' head, searching for any sign of injury. "Let me see."

"Oh, for crying out loud! I only told you about it to explain the headache. Will you stop with the fussing, I'm fine."

"I'll be the judge of that, Colonel O'Neill." The doctor stood and glared at her superior officer, ignoring his obviously rising temper, while making notations on the chart she had picked up from the end of the bed. "Given these readings, I'm going to order you to remain in the infirmary for an observation period of twenty-four hours. I'll inform the General of my decision and that the briefing will have to be delayed."

Jack stood as well, his over six foot frame towering over the woman. "I said I was okay. I'll stay in my quarters tonight, if that makes you feel better." He spoke firmly, making his opinion plain to anyone who heard.

The doctor stood her ground, one hand on her hip, the other clutching the chart in tight fingers. "It doesn't make me feel better in the slightest, Colonel. You will be staying here tonight." At the look on his face, she continued. "Is that clear?"

For a moment the two looked at each other, the battle of wills obvious, then the Colonel's eyes darkened, and his face cleared of all emotion. His voice, when it answered Janet, was dull and cold.

"Yes, Doctor Fraiser, it's clear." Jack folded himself back onto the bed. "You don't need to yell."

Janet softened her tone, in response to his obvious pain. "I'm not yelling, sir."

"Sure sounds like you are." His hand was back, massaging the bridge of his nose, and his eyes were shut. "Can you give me something for this damned headache now?"

Janet stopped, her mouth open, her surprise obvious. "What is it on the scale now, Colonel?"

"About a seven."

"That confirms it. I'll have a nurse bring you some painkillers, and I want you to rest. No visitors, no distractions, while I organise those tests I spoke about. Alright, sir?"

His answer was pained and distant. "Yeah, whatever. I'll be here."

xoxoxoxoxoxoxo

Jack lay, his face turned into the pillow. He wasn't comfortable. The infirmary beds were too firm, the pillows too low, and the sheets too...well...white. The tablet he had taken earlier had only succeeding in making him drowsy enough to resent being disturbed by the battery of tests the doctor had ordered. Now, MRI just finished, he was finally back in bed, feeling like every single part of his body was yelling at him for allowing this to happen.

Behind his closed lids, he replayed the events of the past day. The shearing heat of the crystal's energy throwing him back several feet onto the sharpness of the strange yellow ground. Waking to find himself alone, left behind by his team, unarmed and completely vulnerable. The anger and frustration as he submitted to the indignity of being locked up when he returned to his own base, the walls of the small cell closing in, reminding him that he was a prisoner once again. The pain growing behind his eyes as he listened to all the speculation from his teammates. The ache only increasing in intensity when he saw himself on the tape walking down the ramp as if he belonged. And finally, the agony rising to a crescendo when he realised what was being said, the phone in his hand before he had even known he had moved from where he had been sitting.

Then the hospital. Hitting the cabinet, his head throbbing, the energy visible in the air. The wounded expression in his own eyes, eyes that saw so much more than he had.

The small hand reaching out and tearing his soul in two.

He flinched from the images in his pounding head. He needed to get away from here, the echoes of presence, and the confining concrete.

He had to leave.

He was up, into the locker room, dressed, and out of the mountain before his memory caught up with his actions. When it did, he headed straight for the nearest bar

xoxoxoxoxoxoxo

Chris Bentley had seen a lot of hard drinking in his time as the bar manager at The Three Doors, but the tall man in the far corner was beating the other contenders for the crown hands down. It was a busy night, the place packed with staff from Peterson and the Academy, the noise level beginning to hurt even his dulled hearing. Normally he would have warned the guy, slowed down his drinks, and made sure he went on his way, but tonight he was too busy to be bothered babysitting someone who looked old enough to know better.

The scuffle wasn't anything unusual in The Three Doors, however the protagonists were. It was with a feeling of inevitability that Chris hurried towards the shouts, expecting a drunken brawl. What he saw was quite different. A burley young man was being helped to his feet by friends, his nose bleeding and battered. Another man was on his back, the drunk standing over him, hand held rigidly, ready to strike. It was only Chris's shout that stopped its downward arc. For a second everything seemed to freeze, then the man stepped back and reached into the pocket of his black trousers.

"Here." Some notes were thrown on the table amongst the shattered glasses littering its top. "This should cover my tab, plus the damages." And with those few brief words the brown haired man pushed his way through the crowds, staggering only slightly as he headed for the door.

"Hey! Aren't you going to do anything? He attacked us." Chris turned to see the young, sandy haired man had managed to get up off the floor. He pushed his face belligerently into Chris's. "Walt bumped him, that's all."

Chris ignored him, beckoning to a waiter to clear the mess, before turning back. "It's not my problem. He's paid for the glasses."

"So what! He didn't pay for Walt's broken nose." The man looked around for support, wordlessly appealing to the group he had come in to the bar with. His friends were backing the young man and their tempers were rising. "Well, he's not going to get away with it." There was muttered agreement. "Come on, he can't have gotten far." And the pack moved off, the scent of battle egging them on.

"Shit!" In all conscience Chris couldn't leave the older man to defend himself against so many. He returned to the bar, grabbing the phone and tapping in the numbers to reach the Peterson Base MPs. He had caught a glimpse of dog tags hanging around the drunk's neck, and knew the MPs would arrive faster than the civilian police. A quick explanation and he hung up, his duty done, the incident already receding from his mind as he spotted another potential problem group of drinkers by the pool table.

xoxoxoxoxoxo

"Hey, you!"

Jack heard the shout, but continued on his way through the parking lot. He had no intention of driving, he knew he'd had far too much to be safe on the road, but he wanted his jacket from his truck. It would take a while to find a cab at this time of night, and there was a cold breeze blowing. He had thrown his wallet in the glove box before he entered the bar, taking only enough cash to see him through the evening, and he wasn't going to leave that in the car all night either.

He had almost reached his vehicle when another much closer call finally had him spinning to face the source of the voice.

"You bastard. You're not going to get away with that."

Despite the amount of alcohol Jack had consumed over the course of the evening, he knew danger when he heard it and reacted accordingly, his hands already up, his weight balanced on one foot, the other lightly touching the ground, poised to move.

That annoying, loud, obnoxious group of young men had totally pissed him off with their inane comments, designed to be heard by everyone in the vicinity of their table. His headache had grown to mammoth proportions, and Jack had been well aware that he was being unbelievably stupid by not going back to the infirmary. Instead of doing the sensible thing he had just sat there, brooding. The elbow jostling his arm, making his drink slop over the edge of the glass and onto his shirtsleeve, was the final straw. He hadn't even gotten an apology, and when he raised his eyes to meet the other man's, the dismissive grin had him seeing red.

The group moved closer, and Jack, counting six men, all in peak physical condition and at least twenty years younger than him, knew he was in serious trouble.

"Come on, you don't really want to do this, do you?" He tried to inject a conciliatory note into his voice, but knew he had failed miserably when the answer came in the form of laughter, and they converged on him.

The first attacker fell to a sideways kick, the second to a punch, and the rest backed off. The ferocity of the older man's defence had stunned them all, except perhaps for their leader. He had waited, standing back to see the result of his friends' attack. He had already tangled with this man once, had come off second best, and clearly wasn't in a hurry for a rematch.

The remaining four circled Jack, looking for weakness and seeing none.

"Give it up, boys. It isn't worth the aggravation." Jack tried one more time to reason with them. The effect of the alcohol, combined with his already aching head, was starting to kick in, and his vision was beginning to blur. He shut his eyes for a second, knowing the risk, thinking his eyesight might clear, but the result wasn't what he had hoped. In the split second he had before the first fist landed he knew nothing had changed, so he lashed out instinctively, connecting solidly with what felt like a stomach. A muffled yelp told Jack he had been successful, and then there was shouting and running footsteps. Hands grabbed at him at the same time as he took a hit to his side, and he tried to retaliate, only to find both hands pulled behind his back accompanied by the unmistakable sound and feel of handcuffs locking around his wrists.

Jack stopped struggling and shook his head, lowering it, before closing his eyes, his head spinning.

"Come on, get him in the car."

"Give him a minute. I don't want to be cleaning it if he's going to throw up."

Jack raised his head and opened his eyes. The blurs resolved themselves slowly into the shapes of two uniformed Air Force personnel – MP's – probably from Peterson. He glanced around as the sound of a reeving car engine filled the air.

"Leave it." He turned his head back to see the MP holding his arms halting the other in the process of getting in an Air Force car. "We couldn't catch them now anyway, and I don't think they were military. We've got enough to deal with with this one."

The hand moved, pushing him forward and down into the back seat of the vehicle, the door open and waiting. He settled back as comfortably as he could with his hands in such an unnatural position and shut his eyes again, blocking out the voices.

What had happened finally registered in his mind, and he allowed himself a brief internal laugh of derision. He had gone AWOL from the infirmary, gotten drunker than he had in years, beaten up some civilians, and been arrested by MP's.

He sighed deeply.

This was just peachy.

xoxoxoxoxoxo


	2. Part Two

Shattered Crystal Part Two

  
  
"What have we got here, Sergeant?" Captain Morales watched as the two MP's led a handcuffed man into the room.  
  
"We arrived at The Three Doors bar, sir, and found this man in the parking lot fighting with a group of civilians. From his description he must be the customer Mister Bentley called us about. The others ran off."  
  
"He doesn't look like he's been in a fight, Sergeant."  
  
"He took a blow just as we arrived, sir, but from what we saw it looked like he was doing most of the damage. He had two down."  
  
"How many of them were there?"  
  
"Six that we saw." The Sergeant gave a broad smile. "And yes, we checked his dog tags. He is one of ours."  
  
"Hot damn! Six you say?" Morales smiled back. "Who is he?"  
  
"Name's Jonathon O'Neill according to his tags, other than that I've got no idea, sir. He refuses to answer questions, and doesn't have anything on him except some cash and a set of keys."  
  
"Okay, we'll run his service number. Get him into a cell, and give him a chance to sleep it off while we check him out. He may be a little more cooperative when he wakes up." As the man was led away, he had another thought and called out. "You said he took a hit?" At the nod of confirmation he continued. "I'll get the duty doctor to have a look at him."  
  
The Captain turned back to the computer on his desk, reading the number off the incident sheet Sergeant Kingston had handed him and tapping it in. He pressed the enter key and waited. For some reason the screen was taking ages to load.  
  
"Captain." Kingston reappeared, a look of resigned disgust on his broad face. "Did you call the doctor yet? Our guest has just thrown up all over Simpson."  
  
"Damn! Not in the cell?"  
  
The Sergeant smiled grimly. "No, sir, we were still in the corridor. He managed to avoid himself as well, but the Airman will need to change his uniform. I think you better get the doctor over here, Captain. I don't think it was the drink that made him sick. He doesn't look too hot at all. Could be that blow he took."  
  
Morales rubbed a hand across his eyes before looking down at his watch. 0300hrs – the doctor wouldn't be happy at being called out at this hour. He had hoped to leave it for a few hours at least, let the guy sleep it off, but he trusted Kingston's judgement in these matters. The Sergeant had been an MP for long enough to know the danger signs if they reared their ugly heads in one of his charges.  
  
The duty doctor duly requested, Captain Morales followed the Sergeant to the cell. Airman Simpson was impatiently waiting there, the smell of fresh vomit cloying in the still air of the corridor, with a mop and bucket, evidence that the young MP hadn't been wasting his time.  
  
"Okay, Airman. We'll take it from here. You go get yourself cleaned up." Morales couldn't help but smile as he looked into the open cell and saw that Kingston had been right. The man sitting on the hard cot was spotless, perhaps an indication of just how experienced he was in these matters.  
  
The Captain took a closer look at their guest. He certainly didn't look like their normal client – usually young airmen who got a little too enthusiastic when celebrating a night off base. He moved into the cell, motioning the Sergeant to accompany him, and stood looking down at the bent head.  
  
"You okay?"  
  
He was surprised when he got an answer. The head came up, and hooded brown eyes stared back at him. "I'm fine, Captain."  
  
"You don't look it." Morales took in the lines of pain creasing the man's forehead. "I was told you could be injured. I've called the doctor to come look at you."  
  
For a second an expression flickered across the man's face that Morales couldn't identify. Anger? Fear? Neither one made sense. Then he groaned, and lifted his legs up onto the cot, moving down it to put his head on the hard lump that was the cell's answer to a pillow.  
  
"Shit." The expletive was softly said, but heartfelt, as an arm came up to shield his eyes.  
  
The Captain watched, unspeaking, as the tall figure lay there, then moved back out the door, gesturing for Kingston to lock it behind him. He wasn't going to bother asking any questions until after the doctor had seen him. Any information he needed should be waiting for him on the computer.  
  
"Come on, let's see who our mystery guest is, Sergeant." Morales lead the way back up the corridor and into the office, checking the time as he did so – the doctor should be arriving soon. Sure enough, the screen had finally loaded, the man's service information waiting. The implication of what he read hit him like a sledgehammer.  
  
"Oh God!"  
  
The Captain grabbed for the handset of the phone, punching in the numbers for the Base Commander. It took a few minutes before a sleepy voice answered.  
  
"Sir, it's Captain Morales here. I thought I should let you know - we have a Colonel O'Neill in the cells." There was a pause as he listened to the questions on the other end of the line, before answering. "Yes, sir, I'm sure." The call ended with another "Yes, sir." from the Captain.  
  
Morales hung up to meet the stunned eyes of Sergeant Kingston. The Sergeant turned back to the computer screen. "It says here he's from NORAD. Should we call his base commander?"  
  
"Nope. Let the General handle it, Sergeant." Morales pointed to the screen. "Look – there was a flag put on the Colonel's record. There's something else going on here, and I think it would be best if we just stayed out of it."  
  
Sergeant Kingston nodded, his long years in the Air Force telling him that his captain was right. When it came to officers as senior as the mysterious colonel locked away in that cell, it was best to keep your head down and just do your job.

xoxoxoxoxoxo  
  
Jack tried to relax, tried to stop thinking and ease the pounding behind his eyes, but he couldn't. The more he tried, the harder it became, until after only a few minutes, he sat up with a muttered groan, finally properly taking in his surroundings.  
  
He didn't like cells. Knowing he deserved to be in this one didn't help. Even after all these years, being locked up still brought back memories of a time he would rather not remember. He had kept that part of his past from his team, wanting to talk about it no more than he had about his son. Of course, Daniel knew about Charlie, and it was obvious that he had discussed what had happened with Captain Carter and Teal'c, but that didn't mean Jack was glad they knew.  
  
Jack O'Neill was a private man, and the knowledge that his hidden pain had been visible for all to see was abhorrent to him. He had managed to box his memories of his son's death up into a corner, only allowing them out when he was alone, but now they had been exposed, and he didn't know if he could cope. He didn't even know if he wanted to.  
  
But there was more to it than the thought of everyone knowing what his neglect had done. More than the thought of the way people would look at him now. Much more than that.  
  
He stood, pacing the few short steps from the cot to the door and back, getting more agitated the more he thought about the events of the day. This wasn't the first time he had been locked up today. With an unconscious imitation of his previous words he grabbed the bars on the door and shouted.  
  
"Get me the hell out of here!"  
  
He was answered by the sound of footsteps, and the captain he had spoken to earlier appeared, looking worried.  
  
"I'm sorry, Colonel, but I can't release you. The doctor will be here in a few minutes."  
  
"I don't need a doctor, Captain." Jack's voice dropped to a low growl. "I just need out of this cell."  
  
"I need to examine you first, Colonel."  
  
At the sight of the doctor, Jack stood back, schooling his features and automatically concealing his emotions.  
  
The doctor spoke briefly to the captain before the door was unlocked, and he was allowed to enter, placing his bag on the floor next to the cot.  
  
"I'm Doctor Martin, Colonel. I understand you have been in a fight tonight? Would you mind sitting down and letting me examine you?"  
  
"I keep trying to tell everyone – I'm fine." Jack felt his temper rising again and firmly held it down, speaking as calmly as he could. His words were obviously not going to stop the doctor, as he opened his bag and took out one of those little penlights that were the bane of Jack's life.  
  
"Wait!" Jack held his hands out. "They got a lucky punch in. Got me in the side." To his relief the doctor put the penlight down beside him and waited as Jack unbuttoned his shirt, pulling it from his waistband. His attempt to appear normal took a blow as he lost balance, quickly sitting before he fell down.  
  
The doctor raised his eyebrow at the stumble, and turned to Morales.  
  
"If you would give us some privacy, Captain, I'm going to give the Colonel a proper examination." At the look on the captain's face, he continued. "Don't worry. I'm sure I'm safe to be left alone with him."  
  
Jack grimaced as the Captain left.  
  
"Now, sir. Just how much did you have to drink tonight?"

xoxoxoxoxoxoxo  
  
General Langdon was not happy. He knew Jack O'Neill well, and couldn't begin to imagine how the second in command of the SGC had ended up in one of his cells. The report from Captain Morales only served to confuse him, raising more questions than answers. He waited in uncomfortable silence for Doctor Martin to finish his examination, accepting the sergeant's offer of coffee gratefully.  
  
"Well?" He barked the question as soon as the doctor came into view.  
  
The doctor was clearly surprised to see the general there, but answered without hesitation.  
  
"Colonel O'Neill has a blood alcohol reading of .19, and I would suspect has been drinking for several hours. He has some bruising to his side, but seems to have suffered no damage to his kidney, at least as far as I can tell without more complete tests. He is, however, experiencing severe headaches and is supersensitive to light. Normally I would put that down to the effects of the alcohol, but I don't think that is the case here, and I'd like to have him transferred to the infirmary."  
  
"Sir." Captain Morales interrupted before his CO could answer. "The Colonel's record has been red flagged."  
  
"It has?" Langdon strode over to the computer. "Give me a minute, Doctor."  
  
The information he called up was no more illuminating than anything else he had heard in the last half hour. Reading between the lines it looked like O'Neill had gotten himself into a bit more trouble than just over indulging. There was a request to notify his commanding officer if he was located, and Langdon could think of only one thing that would cause George Hammond to do that. O'Neill was AWOL.  
  
Damn.  
  
Dan Langdon found himself between a rock and a hard place. He knew he should contact George immediately and let him deal with his own officer, but he and Jack had a long history, going back to when he was a newly promoted Captain, and Jack was a very undisciplined Lieutenant. They had served together several times, fought alongside each other, and even double dated, at least until Sara came on the scene.  
  
Dan had married soon after Jack, and after the birth of his second child had transferred out of a combat unit. He had lost touch with Jack O'Neill for a while there and had been shocked to learn of his capture and imprisonment at the hands of the Iraqis. The next time he had seen him was only a few months ago, on his way from the Springs to Washington for some high-powered meeting. That had puzzled Dan, Jack being the last person he would expect to be involved in anything to do with the top brass.  
  
Then Dan had been told about the magic ring hidden deep down under the mountain like something out of a Tolkien novel, and it had all fallen into place. The thought of Jack O'Neill travelling to other worlds and fighting aliens on a daily basis was much more believable than him attending meetings in Washington.  
  
They had met a couple of times for dinner since, and been careful to avoid any mention of Jack's work in 'Deep Space Radar Telemetry'. Now, here he was, in Dan's prison, and he was causing as much trouble as in the old days.  
  
General Langdon came to a decision.  
  
"I'm going to talk to Colonel O'Neill, Doctor. I'll let you know if he's being transferred into your care when I'm done."  
  
Captain Morales moved forward, the cell key in his hand, but the General stopped him. "I'll speak to him alone, Captain." He held his hand out and the key was handed over, albeit, reluctantly.  
  
"Are you sure, sir?"  
  
"Yes, Captain, I'm sure." He couldn't help smiling at the question. A drunk Jack O'Neill wasn't exactly a new experience for him.  
  
Jack was lying down when Dan unlocked the cell door, but sat up when he saw who his latest visitor was. His attempt to stand ended in failure and he slumped back on the cot with a groan.  
  
"Sir."  
  
"Jack."  
  
Dan took a seat on the cot next to him. "Want to tell me what's going on?"  
  
"I got in a fight, ended up here."  
  
"And what about the rest of it, Jack? Hammond's put a flag on your file, you know."  
  
Jack turned bloodshot eyes to his. "Really?" At the answering nod, he rubbed his hand across the back of his neck. "Hell. Guess I'm in trouble then."  
  
Dan searched his face, seeing changes he didn't like. "Come on, Jack. I need some answers if I'm going to help. So far there's no real paperwork – just a couple of incident reports." When there was no answer, he continued. "Doctor Martin wants to transfer you to the base infirmary."  
  
That got a reaction.  
  
"No. I don't need to go to any infirmary."  
  
"Then what am I meant to do, Jack? By rights I should have reported your whereabouts to General Hammond by now."  
  
"I...oh shit!" Jack bolted upright, his hand over his mouth.  
  
Dan recognised the signs immediately, dragging the other man over the corridor to the latrine directly opposite. He stood, patiently waiting while the Colonel vomited into a toilet bowl, then watched as he staggered over to the hand basin and splashed liberal amounts of water on his face. When he straightened up, Dan was stunned at how pale he looked.  
  
He turned to lead the way back, only to have Jack make no move to follow. "Jack?"  
  
O'Neill shook his head. "No, Dan. I can't go back in there."  
  
Dan had never thought to hear such desperation in Jack's voice. He thought for a moment then nodded. "Okay, Jack. God knows what, but I'll think of something." He put his hand on the small of the other man's back, helping him to stay upright. "Come on."  
  
He saw the surprise in the faces of the personnel in the outer office as he hurried by, urging Jack past them. He paused only long enough to say two things. "Colonel O'Neill is fine, Doctor. I'll take full responsibility." And "Lose the paperwork, Captain."

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo


	3. Part Three

Last part, everyone and thanks for the great reviews.

There is a small spoiler for the episode 'The Nox' here.

Shattered Crystal - Part Three

Dan looked at the man lying spread across the couch in his office, and wondered if he had done the right thing. He hadn't dismissed the medical report as easily as the doctor seemed to think, but whatever was wrong with Jack didn't seem to be life threatening. Something serious had happened to his friend, and knowing Jack, he needed some space before he had to face it.  
  
And if Jack needed time, Dan was going to do all in his power to give it to him.  
  
The long, lanky form shifted, and the eyes opened briefly before slamming shut again.  
  
"How are you feeling?" Dan didn't really need to ask, but he wanted to get the other man talking.  
  
"Like crap." Keeping his eyes shut, Jack rubbed a hand over his face.  
  
"Spending all night drinking will do that."  
  
"Ya think!"  
  
Dan smiled at the familiar O'Neill expression, but sobered again quickly when he saw a wince of distress cross Jack's face. "Jack, you have to tell me what's going on. I can't avoid calling Hammond for too much longer – too many people saw me bring you over here, and the gossip will be flying." He had never realised just how many personnel wandered the base in the pre dawn hours, all extremely interested in the sight of their General taking a staggering, and obviously drunken man, into his office.  
  
Jack looked up. "How long have I been here?"  
  
"You've been asleep for four hours." The general glanced at his watch before picking up the phone and issuing an order. Within a few minutes there was a knock on the door and his secretary appeared, carrying a pot of coffee and two mugs. She entered at Langdon's nod, walking to the desk and placing the tray down, careful to avoid the reports spread across its surface. She exited quickly, as Dan mentally gave her extra points for the careful avoidance of any sign of curiosity.  
  
He poured the hot liquid into the mugs and waited for Jack to sit before handing him one, waiting for his hand to stop shaking before letting go. He settled back in a chair, took a sip, and tried again.  
  
"Talk to me, Jack. Tell me what brought all this on."  
  
For a minute Jack sat there, all his attention seemingly focused on the cup in his hand, then he brought his head up and spoke.  
  
"I can't, sir."  
  
Dan shook his head at Jack's words. "I assume it's something to do with the SGC?" When he got a nod in reply, he sighed. Jack obviously needed a friend to talk to, and Dan knew there were very few people that fitted that description. And how many of them could he talk to about his job? He wasn't one of them, and he knew it.  
  
"Do you want me to call Hammond now?"  
  
To his surprise, Jack nodded. Dan had expected him to take the initiative, and call his own CO, ready to face the music. That he hadn't offered to do so was so totally unlike the Jack O'Neill he knew that it was shocking.  
  
General Langdon wasn't surprised to find General Hammond already at his desk at the SGC. For George to have put a flag on O'Neill's records Dan knew there must be something serious going on, and Hammond's tone confirmed it. Annoyance was overshadowed by relief, and within a few minutes arrangements were made to send the wayward officer back to his command.  
  
Jack only nodded when he was told, and after a quick wash, was standing ready as the car pulled up outside. A brief handshake and muttered thanks, and he was off – back up the mountain, and to face whatever had made him run.  
  
Dan stood watching as the car receded into the distance, before heading back to start a new day.  
  
xoxoxoxoxoxo  
  
"Colonel O'Neill, sir." General Hammond's aide held the door open and stepped back to let the officer through, closing it behind him with a click.  
  
George watched as Jack O'Neill moved to stand at attention in front of his desk, taking in the ruffled appearance, and bloodshot eyes.  
  
"Would you care to explain yourself, Colonel?" He deliberately kept his tone sharp. God knows he deserved some after the events of the past couple of days, but the last thing this man needed now was sympathy.  
  
"No, sir."  
  
"Well you don't have any choice in the matter. You were ordered to stay in the infirmary and you chose to ignore that order. Then you turn up, causing problems, at Peterson. You're lucky you have friends, Colonel, or who knows where you'd be now." He stopped, taking in the too pale face, and the slight quavering of the man in front of him, and dropped his voice. "For goodness sake, Jack, sit down before you fall down."  
  
As the Colonel dropped into a chair with a muttered thank you, Hammond stood and moved around the desk to stand beside him.  
  
"We were worried about you, son. Captain Carter and Doctor Jackson have been searching for you all night, and Doctor Fraiser is almost frantic."  
  
Although Jack seemed relaxed, Hammond noted the balled up fists, and the barely suppressed tension. He had known this man for too long not to recognise the signs.  
  
He stepped back as the Colonel stood with a sudden movement, the emotion translated into restless pacing. Finally the silence was broken.  
  
"I needed to think." The movement didn't stop. Jack reached the far wall, and turned back, his head down.  
  
"Is it something to do with the crystal being?"  
  
The steps faltered for a second, then resumed. "Yeah." The one word answer was spat out.  
  
George decided to cut to the heart of the matter. "It can't have been easy, seeing him turn into your son."  
  
The reaction to his words was spectacular. Jack stopped dead in his tracks, his back turned, his face concealed.  
  
"Why did he do that? What could he hope to achieve?" The words were torn out of him.  
  
"Maybe he thought the reminder of what your son meant to you would bring some measure of comfort to you and your wife, Colonel?"  
  
Jack spun, and Hammond took an involuntary step back at the fury evident in his face. "Comfort! What sort of comfort does having a copy of your dead son appear and then be taken away again, bring? What sort of comfort would it give Sara to touch her son again, and be told he's not real? What sort of comfort does it bring to watch that copy turn back into a rock!?" He threw himself back into the vacant chair, his hands up, clutching at his head. "Why did it do that? Sara is just managing to get her life back together and this happens. She has to watch him walk away again, with no explanation. Couldn't it see how cruel that was?"  
  
"Jack..." Hammond didn't know what to say, how to comfort the devastated man. Everything he said was true. The crystal being had unknowingly caused so much pain to Charlie's parents. He could only begin to imagine what it must be like for O'Neill, to have lost his son so violently and he knew what no one else on the base but Doctor Jackson knew – that the Colonel had been within a hair's breadth of suicide in the weeks following his son's death. He seemed to have found some measure of peace now, with purpose brought back into his life here at the SGC. Now this.  
  
George put his hand on the strong shoulder and felt it slump and shudder. He waited until he felt the tremors still, before leaning over the desk and paging Doctor Fraiser to his office.  
  
xoxoxoxoxoxoxo  
  
"Are you sure he's fit for duty, Doctor?"  
  
Janet Fraiser nodded, paging through the extensive notes she had taken on Colonel O'Neill. "Yes, General. The electromagnetic energy emitted by the crystal has dissipated completely. The headaches and resulting blurred vision the Colonel was experiencing were a direct result of his being hit by that energy twice in a short space of time. After I managed to identify the problem it was just a case of giving his body time to rest and recover. The three days he spent in the infirmary appears to have done the job, and he checks out at one hundred percent fit."  
  
Janet thought back to the scene that had greeted her when she had been called to the General's office a few days before, her relief at finding her missing patient tempered by her concern when she saw the state he was in, his physical problems combining with the trauma to send him right to the edge and almost over it. The Colonel had been close to emotional collapse and she could have hardly blamed him. If only they had thought through the events of those days, and seen the consequences for him, they might have been able to help. But hindsight was a fine thing, and they had seen what he had chosen to show them – the unemotional professional, touched by nothing.  
  
"Keep the lights on, I'll be back."  
  
It had sounded so frivolous, so joking, that they had all taken it at face value and hadn't seen the pain hidden behind the eyes.  
  
She shut the folder with a snap, and saw in the General's face an answering acknowledgement of her thoughts. They would have to be careful in future – not take so much for granted.  
  
The mission SG-1 was about to leave on would be a perfect chance for Colonel O'Neill to ease back into his duties after his enforced sick leave.  
  
Hunting invisible dragons – it sounded right up the Colonel's alley.  
  
Just the thing to take his mind off beings that could bring the dead back to life.  
  
The End


End file.
